


Trust

by allisondraste



Series: Roses and Thorns [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Post-Blight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisondraste/pseuds/allisondraste
Summary: Domestic bliss, pre-wedding jitters, trust issues, and dancing? What could possibly go wrong?





	Trust

Rays of sunlight trickled in around thick curtains that were not quite drawn close. The windows were cracked slightly, and cool morning air mixed with the warmth of the fireplace that crackled on the opposite side of the room. Lucia sat at the kitchen table, her kitchen table, a table that was attached to no oppressive institutions, elusive darkspawn-fighting orders, or crown-vying royals eager for the approval of the Hero of Ferelden. No, the table was hers, the home it was in was hers, and it was so surreal that she worried it could all be a dream.

She swirled a cinnamon stick around the warm cup of tea in her hand. Alistair’s thick, warm shirt hung loosely from her shoulders, smelling so strongly of him, that she would have believed he was in the room if she did not know better. He was sleeping soundly in the bedroom, completely oblivious to the fact that she had been up all night.

Well, at least he had been asleep. A shuffle of quilts, the patter of drowsy footsteps, and Alistair was there, smiling that crooked smile of his and wiping sleep from his eyes. His hair was inexplicable, a messy array of sandy brown protrusions about which he’d have been self-conscious if he knew. He shivered, his brown skin exposed to the cool morning air.

“There’s my shirt,” he said, squeezing her shoulders playfully as he kissed the top of her head, “Oh, and my betrothed, too! I was wondering where the both of you had gotten off to.”

“You found us.” She laughed slightly and turned to look at him briefly before turning back to the tea she had no intention of drinking.

“You’re up early.” Alistair spoke as he poured himself a cup of tea from the kettle, and sat down across from Lucia.

“Never slept.” She said it quickly and quietly, as if making it harder for him to hear would make it not true.

“Again?” He stretched his arm across the table and took her hand in his, eyes searching her as if he would find elusive reason for her frequent sleeplessness written in fine print on her forehead. “Are you having nightmares?”

“No, nothing like that.” She shook her head and smiled, darting her eyes down and away from his concerned expression. “It’s just, well, I have a lot on my mind, with the wedding and everything.”

“You’re worried about the wedding?” Alistair’s voice changed from concerned to hurt, exactly how she had hoped it wouldn’t.”What’s wrong? If you don’t want to do this we don’t have to.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she corrected him, “Of course I want to marry you, but… the wedding is so public.”

“We do know how to draw a crowd, huh? The Hero of Ferelden marries her dashing bastard in a ceremony officiated by the Queen?” His voice was animated and and ironic. “It’s basically theater.”

“It’s not theater until someone gets murdered during the vows,” she quipped with a laugh and brought her gaze back up to his.

“That’s only Orlesian theater. We Fereldans prefer happy endings, thank you very much.” He crossed his arms and turned up his nose in feigned offense, before returning to his previous posting holding her hand. “But in all seriousness, Luce. There’s more to it than just ‘ew people.’ I know you better than that.”

“You’re right,” she admitted with a huff. She hated when he saw through her defenses. “This is going to sound completely frivolous, so please try not to judge: I am terrified of making a fool of myself at this very formal, very public wedding.”

“There is no way that you could ever look like a fool,” Alistair reassured her tenderly, “It’s just like any other wedding, only the clothes are nicer, it smells better, and there is a ball afterward, instead of drunken dancing at the tavern down the road.”

“That’s the problem.”

“What is? The lack of drunken tavern dancing?” Alistair’s smile betrayed his sarcasm, as he leaned back in his chair.”Can’t say I took you for the type.”

“At least if I were drunk, the dancing wouldn’t be so terrifying.” Lucia blinked a few times before looking down self-consciously.

“Do you not know how to dance?” From anyone else that question would have sounded judgmental, but Alistair’s tone conveyed genuine curiosity and concern.

She shook her head as embarrassment washed over her. She never in her wildest dreams imagined that dancing would be her downfall. She could defeat darkspawn and dragons without a scratch to show for it, but dancing absolutely terrified her, especially among leering crowd rooting for her to fail, or just trip over her own feet. She didn’t deserve to be there anyway. She didn’t.

“I think I might have a solution for this one.” Alistair stood up abruptly and sat his cup down forcefully on the table, causing Lucia to startle. His chair screeched obnoxiously as it slid across the floor, and he walked into the large, open living area where the fireplace crackled..

“Alistair, wha-“

“Come on.” He motioned for her to join him, bouncing on the balls his bare feet excitedly. She did has he asked walking over to stand in front of him. He bowed and extended his left hand for her to take.

“Are you serious?” She chuckled and looked at him skeptically, but took his hand anyway. He placed his free hand on her waist and pulled her close to him.

“Completely serious.” He grinned. “Now you put your hand on my shoulder.”

Lucia did so, mystified by his knowledge of formal dancing. It wasn’t simply standing together swaying about, no, he knew details down to the footwork! Try as he might to teach her those same details, she struggled to pick up the pattern. She struggled even more to follow his lead, instead attempting to predict the movements beforehand causing them both to stumble repeatedly. One misplaced step, and they both tumbled to the ground.

“See! I’m a lost cause.” She laughed in frustration as she stood up, rubbing the soreness and tingling from the elbow that caught her fall.

“Lucia, Love, light of my life and all those other wonderful things.” Alistair was still lying on his back, hand up over his eyes, massaging his temples.

“Yes?”

“You have to trust me.”

“I… do.” She was stricken by his assertion. Of course she trusted him.

“I know you trust me in the general sense of the word.” He was on his feet now, holding her face in his hands. “But I need you to trust me enough to let me lead you. I know you like to be in control, but this is one time you don’t have to.”

“I… don’t know how. It’s just kind of instinct.” Lucia furrowed her brows in thought.

“I may have an idea,” he said before kissing her on the forehead and rushing off to the kitchen. He took one of the large, thick cloth napkins from one of the cabinets and returned to stand in front her. He extended the napkin toward her in his open palm.

Lucia smiled and nodded with nervous excitement, allowing Alistair to tie the cloth around her face, covering her eyes like a blindfold. The world around her was dark and ambiguous, her own home completely foreign to her. A warm hand took hold of hers, and there was a gentle pressure against her waist. She placed her hand where she believed Alistair’s shoulder to be, having to adjust only slightly to actually find it.

“Okay, Luce, just follow my lead okay.” Alistair’s voice somehow sounded louder than before. His smell was stronger. “You’ll know the move before we make it.”

They took the first few steps. A push on her hand, and she stepped back, a tug at her waist and she stepped forward. She still felt uneasy, lost, like the world spiraled around her.

“How are you holding up,” Alistair asked.

A shaky breath, and Lucia answered, “I’m okay. It’s just… different.”

As they continued, the steps became more and more fluid, more natural. The anxiety subsided, allowing her comfort with turns, spins, and gliding across the floor. Once she felt that confident in her ability to follow, she asked him to remove the blindfold, and they resumed their movements across the floor. There were no stumbling steps, no misplaced feet, no falling to the floor. She trusted him.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” The question had been burning in Lucia’s mind since the impromptu lesson began.

“I grew up with an Arl, in a castle,” Alistair answered, “There were lots of parties.”

“You lived in the kennels,” she stared bluntly.

“Okay, ouch. You didn’t have to twist that knife.” His voice was playful, but there was hurt in his words underneath the bluster.

Lucia squinted and scowled at him. “Who taught you?”

“Okay, okay, fine! It was Zevran,” he said with a sigh, “You happy?”

“Immensely.”

They danced for a bit longer, sharing a tender kiss as they came to a halt. More had changed for Lucia than her newfound ability to dance. Her need for control ran deep, but it did not need to, not anymore. Alistair was there, as he always would be, and she was safe. He was hers, just like the table, and the chairs, and the house.

And she was his.


End file.
